A longing consumed the prince's mind, and she omen was screened from him by the urge of taste of the Great Don: "For I wish," he said, "to break a lance on the limit of the Kuman field; with you, sons of Rus, I wish either to lay down my head or drink helmetful of the Don."
Igor sets out; accumulation of omens
Then Igor set foot in the golden stirrup and rode out in the champaign. The sun block his way with darkness. Night, moaning ominously unto him, awaken the birds; the whistling of beasts [arises?]; [stirring?] the daeva calls on the top of a tree, bids hearken the land unknown — the Volga. and the [Azov] Seaboard, and the Sula country, and Surozh, and Korsun, and you, idol of Tmutorokan!
Meanwhile by untrodden roads the Kumans make for the Great Don; [their] wagons screak in the middle of night; one might say — dispersed swans.
Igor leads Donward his warriors. His misfortunes already arc forefclt by the birds in the oakscrub. The wolves, in the ravines, conjure the storm. The ems with their squalling summon the beasts to the bones. The foxes yelp at the vermilion shields. O Russian land, you are already behind the culmen!
Igor rides on
Long does the night keep darkling. Dawn sheds its light. Mist has covered the fields. Stilled is the trilling of nightingales; the jargon of jackdaws has woken. With their vermilion shields the sons of Rus have barred the great prairie, seeking for themselves honor, and for their prince glory. |